


Boulevard of broken dreams

by chick_with_wifi



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, I don't really know what this au is, Mr and Mrs Smith AU, Romeo and Juliet AU, Slow Burn, but I promise it's cool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-06 17:43:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8762749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chick_with_wifi/pseuds/chick_with_wifi
Summary: Root's ambitions have always been fairly linear: graduate MIT, get a job despite having a criminal record, maybe take over Samaritan at some point - who knows? Until she meets her new audiologist, Dr Sameen Grey, who helps her realise that she wants more out of life.Unfortunately, Root isn't the only one with a secret. Everything will be fine, right? As long as the other doesn't find out...





	1. Chapter 1

Two months after graduating from MIT with an impeccable GPA and a double major in computing, Root was sitting in an old empty building that had somehow found its way off a demolition list (a complete coincidence and obviously nothing to do with her).

The room was dark apart from the faint glow of the computer screen and the lava lamp on one corner of Root’s desk. She was leaning back in her swivel chair with her feet up on the desk, eating a bag of popcorn and fast-forwarding through grainy CCTV footage of a nearby car park to get an idea of how often it was used. The cochlear implant in her right ear was plugged into the computer in case she needed to listen to any part of the recording.

The reason for her current situation was a fairly simple one: just because she had a bit of a criminal record no companies would employ her. It wasn't even her fault; those banks were practically asking to be hacked. Plus, she was doing them a favour by getting them to upgrade their security software. That would prevent them by being attacked by cybercriminals with intentions less...self-centered than her own. 

The only people willing to take her in was a gang called Samaritan, headed by some ex-MI6 English bigwig who liked knowing more than everybody else. They paid well and let Root take time off whenever she wanted, so it wasn't like she was hard done by. All she really needed was enough money for food and rent, the added bonus being that she could put her phenomenal computer skills to good use. Tragically, she didn't really agree with their whole ‘take down our enemies and rule the criminal underworld’ agenda, but that was just a minor detail.

Footsteps approached from her left, and Root turned her head to see her boss, the one and only Mr John Greer. “Hello Miss Groves,” he said politely. “How is your work going?”

Root swallowed her mouthful of popcorn and gestured to the screen with her free hand. “This car park seems like a suitable place for your shady dealings. Not used enough for people to see you, but still used so that your being there won't look suspicious.” 

Greer leaned forward and examined the picture on screen, causing Root to flinch away from him. “Ah, I see. Good work, Miss Groves. There was also one more thing I wanted to talk to you about before I go.”

Root shifted position slightly and raised her eyebrows at him. “That being...”

“Our rival gang, the Machine, is becoming ever more aware of our influence in certain areas. It would be a terrible shame if any top-secret information were to be let slip. I trust you would never let that happen?” he asked, fixing his perceptive gaze on her.

“Of course not. You have my word.”

“Good, just as I thought. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned briskly and left the room.

Behind her back, Root uncrossed her fingers.


	2. Chapter 2

The audiology department had garish orange walls that Root had slowly come to hate over the fifteen years she had been going there on a regular basis.

As a child, she was diagnosed with Meniere’s disease that caused her to gradually lose all the hearing in her right ear, as well as experience sudden bouts of debilitating vertigo. When she was six, she got a cochlear implant that allowed her to regain her hearing on her right side and helped with the vertigo a little.

A few minutes after Root’s appointment was due to begin, a dark-haired woman entered the consulting room and stood behind the desk. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. “My roommate set the stove on fire trying to fry a chocolate bar.”

Root smiled in amusement, eyebrows twitching upwards. “You’re Dr Grey, right?”

The woman nodded. Her waist-length hair was tied up in a ponytail and she was dressed in all black. But the only thing about her that really struck Root was how attractive she was. “And you are -” she glanced at the top piece of paper on her desk - “Root Groves?”

“Yes.”

Dr Grey slowly took off her coat, causing Root’s breath to catch in her throat, and hung it over the back of her chair before sitting down. “Let’s get started,” she said calmly.

Not trusting herself to speak, Root nodded and sat in one of the swivel chairs facing the desk. Dr Grey skimmed over the notes on her desk detailing Root’s medical history then passed her a pair of large over-the-ear headphones and a small handheld device with a single button on it.

“We’re going to test your left ear now.” Dr Grey’s tone was professional and businesslike, without a lot of emotional inflection but still kind. “I assume you know how this works backwards and forwards, but I still have to go through it. Every time you hear a tone, press this button. Turn away so you can't cheat. Not that I think you will, considering you don't exactly have anything to gain from it.”

Root removed her implant so it wouldn't give feedback, then put the headphones on and turned her chair to face the back wall. She then took the button in her hand and listened carefully, closing her eyes in order to shut out excess information and focus on the sounds.

The beeps varied in pitch and loudness, and every time she heard one she pressed the button. Some she was unsure if they were actual tones or just her ear ringing - or even if she was imagining them - but she pressed the button anyway. Better to be safe than sorry.

“OK, you're done,” called Dr Grey about a minute later.

Root turned back to the desk and removed the headphones, handing them and the button back to the doctor, unable to resist a smile. “How’d I do, Doc?”

“No hearing loss in that ear,” replied Dr Grey matter-of-factly, presenting a graph of her results that had just been spat out by the printer next to the monitor. “Everything is within the normal ranges. Is your implant working alright?”

“It’s fine.”

“No issues with the processor? How long have you had it?”

Root kept her expression neutral. “No issues with the processor. I got it when I was six, fourteen years ago, so I’ve had plenty of time to go through auditory rehabilitation. I don't know if you are mathematically inclined or not, but that makes me twenty.”

Dr Grey nodded and stood up, retrieving a device that kind of looked like a thermometer from a shelf on the side of the room that was attached to a small computer screen. “This tests how much pressure is in your ear. Stand up.”

Root stood, and pretended not to notice the little huff of irritation when Dr Grey realised how tall she was. Dr Grey placed the device in Root’s ear and held it there a second after it beeped. “No problems there,” she said and put it back. “Last thing, and then you can go.”

“What makes you think I’m so desperate to go?” asked Root quietly, the phrase apparently leaving her lips without consulting her brain.

Completely unfazed, Dr Grey shrugged then carried on as if nothing had happened. “You can sit down now. I’m going to read out a few words with my mouth covered and you repeat then back to me, to check how much you can hear without relying on lipreading.”

“Alright. Can I have my implant on?” Root suddenly realised the external component was still on the table where she’d left it earlier.

Dr Grey considered it for a second. “Do you normally wear it?”

“Almost all the time.” That was a slight lie but it was Dr Grey’s job to test her hearing, not listen to her talk about her weird issues with her body.

“Then I don't see why that would be a problem.” She shuffled her papers. “Ok, starting now. But I have to warn you in advance, some of the words are quite peculiar.” She held one hand in front of her mouth. “Car.”

“Car,” repeated Root.

“House.”

“House.”

That went on for about ten more words, with Root scoring full marks, and then her appointment was over. “That’s us done,” announced Dr Grey, checking the paper to see who her next patient was.

Much to her surprise, Root felt disappointed. Normally she hated audiologist appointments with a fiery passion, but this one had been almost enjoyable. And she didn't want to say goodbye to Dr Grey just yet. “Do you know ASL?” she blurted out.

Dr Grey smiled. “I wouldn't be much of an audiologist if I didn't, would I?”

Root found herself blushing, and wanted to flee the country from embarrassment. “Good point,” she squeaked.

“Why, would you feel more comfortable signing?” the doctor asked gently. “Because I would be more than happy to.”

“ _I guess,_ ” signed Root. “ _I learned when I was first diagnosed but I don't know anybody else who signs._ ”

Dr Grey didn't miss a beat. “ _Not your parents?_ ”

Root’s shook her head. “ _I don't talk to my parents._ ”

“ _I’m sorry_ ” signed Dr Grey sympathetically.

“Don't be,” Root said aloud, since that made it seem more definite. “I’m better off without them.”

Part of her wondered why she was opening up to Dr Grey about this, a woman she had literally just met, when she hadn't even told people like Daizo who she had known for years.

“In that case I’m happy for you,” said Dr Grey. “Now if you don't mind, I have another patient.”

“Of course. I’m sorry to keep you, doctor.” In her hurry to get out of the room, she walked right into one of the chairs and knocked it over. “I’m so sorry!” she rushed to stand the chair up and leave, but her jacket got caught on the door handle, jerking her back as she attempted to exit.

“Are you trying to take the door with you?” asked Dr Grey in amusement, gesturing to the handle.

“I, uh, no?” Root frantically pulled her jacket free, tearing a seam in the process, and threw herself out into the corridor, bright red in the face and ready for the ground to swallow her up. “Ack, that did not go well.” She covered her face with her hands and cringed, taking a moment before leaving the premises.

On her way out she received a call from of her colleagues, Jeremy Lambert. It surprised her that he had managed to get a hold of the number of her latest burner phone all by himself. “Yes?”

“I trust you can still hear well enough to talk on the phone?” he asked rudely.

“Shut up, Lambert. What do you need?”

“I can't tell you what I need if I shut up, can I?”

Root hissed into the phone, “Talk to me or I’ll hang up on your ass. And since you obviously aren't phoning because you miss me, I wager there’ll be consequences from You Know Who if you don't give me the latest. It’s up to you.”

“Fine,” said Lambert heavily. “The boss needs you to pick up some new burners on your way back. You know the drill.”

“See,” said Root brightly and bordering on condescendingly. “That wasn't so difficult, was it?”

A small screech of feedback told her Lambert had slammed the phone down. How positively childish of him. She pivoted on the spot to go and meet with her dealer (phones, not drugs) and tried not to think about Dr Grey on her way to the meeting point, since she didn't want her memory to be contaminated by criminal activity.

She stood outside in the cold with her hands shoved deep into her coat pockets, breath forming clouds in the air before her. It had gone dark while she was in the audiologist, so the orange glow of the streetlamp on the corner was the only distinctive landmark.

She had decided to take up residence next to an old payphone and leant against the wall while glaring at the drivers of passing cars, because it was obviously their fault she was freezing her butt off. If only she’d thought to bring a hat and gloves.

Five minutes or so later, an inconspicuous grey car with painted-over number plates rounded the corner with music playing so loudly Root could hear the thumping bass and feel the ground shaking with every beat. She pointedly looked at her watch and raised one eyebrow. “What sort of time do you call this?” she called as she approached the vehicle.

The driver pressed a button to roll down his window, causing Root to be hit with a warm blast of air and the heavy smell of cologne that made her want to gag. Without the glass muffling it, the music was painfully loud and her implant screeched in protest so she quickly reached to turn it off.

The driver, who was literally wearing sunglasses at nine o'clock at night like some sort of Men In Black wannabe, tilted his head towards the back seat with tinted windows. “He wants to speak with you.” He rolled down the back window, revealing a man Root knew very well.

“Bella Durchenko.”

“Hello, Root,” he said in a thick Russian accent. “I hear you are in need of burner phones. I have many.” Gesturing to the seat next to him, he revealed a large canvas bag filled with flip phones.

Root smiled. “That’s great. How much for all of them?”

“For you, discount price.” He named his amount and Root handed over the cash. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Right back at you.” She reached in and took the bag, trusting him enough not to check for trackers or anything. Bella knew better than to risk anything that might get him in trouble by extension. And he was the one person even Root couldn't track down if he didn't want to be found. “Thanks.” She thought about winking, but settled for another quick smile.

Root stepped back and the car drove away. Then she wrapped her arms around the bag like it was her firstborn and walked back to Samaritan Headquarters, making sure to take all the back roads and double back on herself a few times in case she was being tailed.

*

“Here.” Root dumped an armful of burner phones into Lambert’s desk and stood back, hand on hip. “That all?”

Lambert frowned at the phones, then directed his gaze towards her. “Yes, for the moment. Can I ask what has put you in such a foul mood today?”

“Your face,” she replied over her shoulder on her way out. Any contact with that oaf was enough to ruin her entire week, and she had zero intentions of prolonging their encounter.

“Oh, Greer wants you to pay the phone bills!” Lambert called after her.

“Of course he does,” muttered Root angrily. “He probably wants me to make tea as well.” She scoffed. “Like that’s going to happen.”

When Root was finally in the safety of her private room (one of her few requirements when she started the job), she sat on her chair with her knees pulled up to her chest and began typing. Paying Samaritan’s phone bills was a fairly mundane job, but she had to do it to make sure nobody could trace the payments to their hideout or find out they were all made by the same person.

So Root had a whole host of bank accounts under various names. Caroline Turing, Kelly Dyson, Jane von Neumann, Petra May. While she was making the transactions, she set the WiFi to reroute through an anonymizer server so receivers wouldn't be able to pick up on her location. And if she needed to make a phone call for whatever reason, then she could easily set up a hopper network to prevent her needing to use the cell phone towers. Basic countermeasures, and her extensive knowledge of them as a good three quarters of the reason she had been hired. Single-handedly running a crime syndicate from her bedroom in Texas for three years came in handy from time to time.

Once that was done, she had a few minutes to do something she’d been meaning to for days: learn more about the Machine, Samaritan's rival gang. So far the only information she had was that they basically did the opposite of her people - looking out for the underdog, helping the helpless, showing up when people were in need. Root thought that sounded like an utter waste of time, but each to their own.

Anyway, she needed to get ahead of the game and educate herself. She didn't like to be just one step ahead, she preferred to have the other person in checkmate and be already planning her next game.

Getting the basics was easy, since she could glean most of what she needed through second or third degree associates. Like their ally inside the police station, Lionel Fusco, who clearly did not have a future working in IT. By backtracking the calls he received, breaking through a few firewalls and following it up with a good, old-fashioned hexagonal algorithm that extrapolated the locations of the calls, she was soon able to deduce the following information:

The Machine consists of Harold Finch (reclusive billionaire), John Reese (ex war veteran) and Sameen Shaw (ex marine). They have friends in high places who warn them when somebody is in danger. And they really, really don't like Samaritan.


	3. Chapter 3

When Root arrived at work the next day, her hands were shaking around her thermos of coffee. She was desperate to find out more about this elusive Finch character but was painfully aware of how much that jeopardized her job and by extension her livelihood.

So she passed through the main room quickly and without making eye contact with anybody. There were a few people slouching in various stages of alertness on the sofas, typing away on laptops or casually cleaning their guns; a couple looked up at the sound of her heels clicking on the concrete floor. The police force would have a fit if they saw this operation, Root thought to herself.

Then her footsteps were muffled by the purple shag rug as she passed through the bead curtain into her office. The computer in front of her was so tempting, but she knew it would be unwise to do anything while the entire team was still here. So she had to sit tight while the flashing cursor on the screen mocked her.

Root was so keyed up that Lambert entering when she wasn't expecting it made her start and spill scalding hot coffee down herself. “Damn,” she muttered, mopping up what she could with a tissue. “At least wearing all black means it won't show up.”

Lambert made a little huff of amusement and leant against the doorframe, folding his arms like he owned the place.

“Actually, it's pronounced ‘sorry’,” said Root, giving him a pointed look.

He frowned at her curiously instead. “What's got you so touchy recently, Princess?”

“Nothing. I just don't appreciate being made to come in at the crack of dawn so Greer can lecture us on how to commit crimes safely.” She checked how much coffee was still in her flask (about half of it, thankfully) and took a sip.

“If you have any more caffeine I can't promise you won't vibrate out of your body,” commented Lambert dryly.

Root glared at him. “Don't tell me how to live my life.” Just to prove him wrong, she gulped the last of her coffee in one go and abandoned her thermos on the floor. In reality, it was too hot to drink like that and burned her throat, but she stubbornly refused to let it show. “Shouldn't you be working?”

Lambert shrugged. “Maybe. Shouldn't you?”

“None of your business. Now get back to whatever rock you crawled out from underneath.” She turned away from him and opened up an old piece of code she was in the process of rewriting. 

A minute later, Lambert left and Root was finally able to breathe. Sadly, there was still a long time to wait before she could so more research.

That morning Greer had sent out a self-deleting message telling them to assemble in the main room at 7 for a meeting. Like the man of mystery he is, nobody knew what it was about. Since she was not an official member of the team, Root wasn't asked to attend but she had been copied in anyway so she had a general idea of what was going on. 

At 7:17, she heard Greer enter and greet them all. She could easily picture him in a suit (what was it with guys and suits?) standing by the old fireplace that hadn't seen a flame since the 1800s.

“Good morning,” he announced. “For your information I am not late. The rest of you are simply early. But on to business. I have it on good faith that there is a priceless artefact going to be moved from one museum to another - details will be given on a need to know basis - in two days time. We are going to steal it.”

General murmurs of agreement rippled throughout the crowd and Root had to stifle a groan from her isolated position. It wasn't really her business - she was just the intern after all - but she didn't see the point of stealing some dusty old relic. There were far faster and cleaner methods of getting rich quick if that was what you wanted to do, so why waste the effort? Not to mention all the cops and do-gooders who would be guarding the hunk of junk.

People are just bad code.

Greer was finished orating and members of Samaritan began to filter out in dribs and drabs. Root tried to make herself look busy when Greer entered to check on her. “We don't have anything for you to do at the moment, Miss Groves.”

She nodded. “Alright. I might go out, so text me if you need me.” But what she was actually thinking was: I can finally do the other thing I spent half the night planning.

Once everybody had left or was otherwise occupied, Root removed the external component of her cochlear implant, placed it on the floor and stamped on it with the heel of her boot. It made a satisfying crack while the plastic cover of the magnet broke in half. 

Then she shoved it into her pocket, put on her hat and gloves then walked to the audiologist.

About halfway there it suddenly occurred to her that Dr Grey might not even be in that day, and since she didn't have another implant to break it would be unwise to waste this journey. Of course, she could hack into the audiologists’ system and look at their timetable, but she was almost there so it would be faster to just check in person.

Gosh, I’m getting out of practice, thought Root. What is wrong with me?

So when she reached the old stone building, she walked around the back to peer through one of the windows. In the darkness it was easy to see inside, but for some reason having only ever been in one room there meant she didn't have the slightest clue how to find it from the outside.

The first ground floor window she came to showed a small room with a guy sat at a desk fiddling with a hearing aid. The second one showed a classroom housing an ASL course with about fifteen participants who were watching the teacher closely as he signed ‘hello my name is…’. Finally, she looked in the last window and saw her familiar audiologists office, and Dr Grey walking across the room with a large file in her arms.

Root couldn't take her eyes off her. She looked so...soft and natural. Then Dr Grey turned to towards the window, causing Root to squeak and drop to the ground.

Her knees instantly got muddy, so she squatted there uncomfortably for a minute with burning thighs, then slowly got up. Holding on to the window ledge, she rose into a crouch and looked back in.

Dr Grey had sat down, facing away from the window, and was doing some paperwork. Root stood up fully and admired the gentle fall of Dr Grey’s hair, her hands, her neck, her muscles.

Root’s common sense told her: just go and talk to her gosh darn it! Stop standing outside her window like a stalker. 

But before she could move, something on the piece of paper caught her attention. The bottom of the document had a space for a full name, then a signature. Root watched closely to see what was written. 

Sameen Grey. Then she wrote something else on the same line in another script that Root didn't recognise. In the last box Dr Grey finished her signature with a flourish and Root had to fight the urge to take a picture..for science.

Dr Grey got up again and left the room with the piece of paper. Root practically tripped over her own two feet in her haste to jog towards the entrance in case Dr Grey was leaving. It only took her about a minute, but when she got there Root was gross and panting and mortified.

One day, Root promised herself, I will not make a fool of myself in front of her. Sadly, that day is not today. At least she hadn't seen me yet.

Dr Grey walked up to a man standing by the reception desk holding a clipboard who couldn't be second over seventeen and shoved the document in front of him, pointing at one of the boxes. She looked angry, but it wasn't a hot anger like when Root lost her temper. Instead it was cold and harsh. Her expression became closed off and her words were like daggers. “Are you going to explain this to me?”

Even from across the room, it scared Root. But she also found it kind of endearing and wanted to find out more.

“Is there a problem?” he asked loudly, in what was presumably meant to be an authoritative tone. 

“No, you are just being incompetent,” replied Dr Grey, speaking low and fast.

Root took a step closer in order to eavesdrop better.

“Is that so? And why might you think that?” asked Babyface.

Dr Grey rolled her eyes. “The patient form for Joey Durban says he has a damaged eardrum as a result of an explosion, even though he hadn't been deployed in seven months when he came to us. He said he had only been experiencing symptoms for a week before he came in, so there's no way that could be the cause.”

“I see,” said Babyface. “But how do you know you are right? Because if I remember correctly, you weren't even the person who examined Captain Durban. And you're just a…”

“Just a what, Laskey? Woman?”

Babyface didn't say anything and took a step back. His eyes were wide and he turned as white as a sheet. “His eardrum damage was caused by an explosion,” he said through a tight throat, then turned and walked away.

But in doing so, he walked right into Root. “Watch where you're going,” he said coldly.

“I wasn't going anywhere,” said Root. “You walked into me. Hence you should be the one watching where you're going.”

“I-”

“And you should also apologise. To both myself and your colleague here, who made some excellent points that I can guarantee you would have taken on board had they come out to the mouth of a male.”

“What kinda feminist-”

“It’s not feminism. It’s just basic courtesy. Or did they not teach that in your cave?

Babyface spluttered in anger, vein in his forehead sticking out. His mouth was open like he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

Root was trying very hard not to laugh, biting her bottom lip slightly. “Go on, be the bigger man and apologise. Because unless you haven't noticed, we don't live in the 1800s and Dr Grey is an invaluable addition to your workplace just like many women are.”

“Fine,” said Babyface. He turned stiffly to Dr Grey, who was looking at Root strangely. “Doctor, I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, Laskey,” replied Dr Grey.

“Aren't you going to accept my apology?” he demanded.

Root put a hand on his shoulder. “You are not automatically entitled to her forgiveness, since you did not apologise of your own accord. But maybe you can make it up to her by being nicer in the future.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Let me rephrase.” Root tightened her grip on his shoulder, making him wince. “You will be nier to Dr Grey or I will find you and put you in a world of hurt so bad you won't be able to remember your own name.” She tilted her head to the side and smiled pleasantly. “Understand?”

Babyface looked at her in fear and nodded mutely.

“Good.” Root released him and he scurried away.

Dr Grey stepped closer to Root, smiling. “That was impressive,” she said.

Root put her hands in her pockets and sighed. “Sexism in the workplace is...not fun. Got some experience there myself. You probably could have handled it, but then he would have been mad at you which can be even worse.”

“Thank you. Can I ask why you are here?”

“Oh yeah.” She got her broken sound processor out of her coat pocket. “My implant broke. Do you want to go on a date with me?” she suddenly blurted out, closing her eyes in fear of what the reply would be. There was a moment of silence, and when Root opened them again Dr Grey was smiling.

“Yeah.” She took the sound processor out of Root’s hand, who was so nervous she had forgotten she was still holding it. “Let’s get this sorted then we can make arrangements.”

Root followed her into the office and sat down. The thought of going on a date with Dr Grey had left her buzzing and she drummed her fingers on her thigh.

“Hmm.” Dr Grey examined the crack on the sound processor. “This looks suspiciously like it was broken on purpose.”

“Whaaaat?” Root laughed nervously. “Who would do such a thing?”

“You, apparently. Or at the very least, the same person who was watching me through that window.” Dr Grey pointed over her shoulder.

Root’s jaw dropped and a blush creeped up her face. “How did you..?”

“I saw your reflection in the photo frame on my desk.” She held up a framed picture of a smiling couple, the man in military uniform and the woman in traditional dress. “My parents.”

“They look really nice,” said Root. Seeing them have her an unfamiliar warm feeling in her chest.She wasn't sure if she liked it or not. 

“So anyway, I’ll get you a new processor. It should be in tomorrow. In the meantime, let’s arrange this date.”

“OK,” squeaked Root.

Dr Grey chuckled. “Can I have your phone?” Root passed it to her and she typed in her number. “Call me tonight.”

When she handed it back, Root checked the contact info. She’d put the name simply as ‘Grey’. “Will do.” Root stood and left, clutching her phone like a lifeline.


	4. Chapter 4

The date was arranged for two days time in the local coffee shop. Root arrived slightly late due to various factors including but not limited to: her phone charger having gone walkabout, Root being completely incapable of choosing a decent outfit and an incompetent taxi driver. But eventually she settled for a grey sweater with silver sequins and black skinny jeans.

So by the time she got there, Dr Grey was already sitting at a table in the back with a large Styrofoam coffee cup, wearing a black tank top that was completely unsuitable for the weather with her hair in a fishtail braid. When the bell above the door jingled as Root entered she looked up and smiled.

Smiling back at her, Root continued to walk forwards until her hip smacked into something solid. The table tipped over, scattering a plate of scones, two cups of tea and a kettle across the floor.

The entire place fell dead silent as every single person looked at Root with a mix of sympathy and amusement. Embarrassed beyond belief, she set the table back up and began picking up the metal kettle and Styrofoam cups while apologising profusely to the elderly couple sat at the table. “I am so sorry, I am literally a walking hazard I don't know why people let me out of the house, anyway I hope no more blockheads walk into your table.”

A waitress came over with a ‘caution do not slip’ sign and placed it over the spilled tea, which she began to mop up.

“I am so sorry,” Root said again. “Here, I’ll buy you some more tea.” She reached into her pocket for her wallet, but the elderly woman stopped her.

“It’s alright, dear. We have more than enough in this pot.”

“At least let me buy you some more scones,” said Root quickly, counting out one dollar notes.

This time the waitress intervened. “We’ll give some more on the house. Don't worry about it.”

“Are you sure?” asked Root uncertainly.

The waitress nodded. “Yeah, it's no biggie. Accidents happen.”

“Alright then. Well, thank you and sorry again.” Root looked over to Dr Grey and smiled.

The elderly woman caught where she was looking and leaned over the table towards her partner to whisper, “Harold…”

Root didn't hear the rest of the sentence, because she was too busy actually focussing on where she was walking and making it to the table in one piece. She sat down carefully and held her head in her hands. “I was trying to make a good impression,” she lamented. “And look at what happened.”

Dr Grey patted her on the shoulder. “It’s alright. But don't you want a drink?”

“I'm not getting up again,” mumbled Root from behind her hands. “I might take down a table, chair, curtains and the entirety of New York.”

“That’s not going to happen. But you know what, I’ll get your drink. What do you want?” asked Dr Grey.

Root looked up from her hands with such a soft facial expression that she could easily have melted into a puddle on the floor. “You’d do that…for me?”

“Crikey, Root. It’s just a drink. But yeah.” Dr Grey smiled, one corner of her mouth higher than the other.

“I’ll have a caramel macchiato, please.” She handed Dr Grey the correct change, then watched as she ordered the drink.

Then Dr Grey sat back down and slid Root’s drink over to her. “Here.”

“Thank you, Dr Grey.”

“Call me Sameen. We’re kind of dating now so you might as well.”

“Alright, Sameen.” That name rang a bell, and Root wondered where she had heard it before. On that form two days ago, but she couldn't dispelled a niggling feeling that she had seen it somewhere before that. “You already call me Root, so just carry on with that.”

“Will do.” Sameen took a sip from her drink. “What do you do for a living? That’s a normal first date topic, right?”

Root replied, “I haven't been on a date in a while, but that seems to be the general consensus. I work in IT. Freelance repairs, setting up WiFi. That sort of thing.”

Dr Grey raised her eyebrows slightly. “Very high tech. I can just about handle powerpoints, but that is the extent of my technical prowess.”

Root laughed. “Hey, computers can be tricky if that's not your thing. Can I ask what made you go into audiology? That’s gotta be a fairly pigeonholed profession.” She rested her elbows on the table and watched Sameen interestedly.

“I trained as a doctor originally and worked as one for about a year, but I was fired.”

Root’s eyes widened as she tried to think why anyone would ever fire Dr Grey. She was completely on top of Joey Durban’s medical records and she wasn't even the one examining him. “I’m sorry.”

“It's alright. Long story short, I was fired because I have an axis 2 personality disorder. Meaning I don't have feelings like normal people. I do angry pretty good, but that's about it. I know it's not exactly first date material, but I just thought you should know.”

Root nodded, but didn't say anything.

“So I decided to go into audiology to prevent all my training from going to waste. But there’s less lifesaving and giving bad news, so I’m not at as much of a disadvantage. And it still has some of the mental challenge, which is what inspired me to go into medicine in the first place. Not the desire to help people. That was just an added bonus, I guess.”

“I get that,” said Root softly. “Growing up, computers always made more sense to me than people. I didn't understand why they got jealous or upset over relationships. Or why they were so petty, dumb, selfish. No one designed us, which is why some people are so poorly constructed. We're just an accident.

“But machines are perfect. Rational. Beautiful. By design. So I thought if I joined a firm that worked with technology there would be more people like me. I thought I would finally belong. But it turns out they are even worse, trying to control their enemies and betray their friends.” She was talking to the framed photo of coffee beans on the wall and running her black-painted nails over a groove in the table.

“Is that why you went freelance?” asked Sameen.

“What? Oh, yes.” Root sipped her drink slowly. “That felt like the way to go.”

“I just need to use the restroom,” said Sameen, standing up. “Excuse me.”

“Alright.” As Sameen walked away, Root’s phone rang. “Hello?”

“Ah, Miss Groves. We just got word from one of our trusted sources that The Machine is on the move,” Greer informed her.

“Doing what?” asked Root quietly, eyes automatically darting towards the other people in the coffee shop to see if any of them seemed out of the ordinary.

“All we know at present is that they seem to be assembling outside Lincorp. We need you to monitor their communications.”

Root pinched the bridge of her nose and glanced at the ladies’ toilet door. “OK. I’ll be there in ten.” She hung up and checked the time on her phone. Half an hour had passed, but it felt like only a few minutes. Time flies when you're having fun.

A few seconds later, Sameen returned. “Hey. I’m so sorry, but I have to dash.”

Root finished her drink and stood up. “No problem, I actually have to go as well.” She shook her phone. “A friend called about, uh, stuff. That I have to...do.” Realising she was just digging herself in deeper, Root clamped her mouth shut. She was normally so chill, so why was she so flustered?

“Sorry to cut this short. We should see each other again sometime,” said Sameen as she put on her coat. “Well, bye.”

“Bye.” Root waited a few seconds to make sure Sameen wouldn't see where she went, then set off back to Samaritan HQ in a better mood than she’d been all week.


	5. Chapter 5

As always, Root was holed up in her little office with only her screens and keyboards for company. She didn't mind it too much, since she had never been a fan of human interaction, but sometimes it got a little tiresome watching these poor misguided people go about their useless lives. Putting zeroes on their bank accounts and having their life threatened while Root watched over hacked CCTV cameras.

The footage showed a fancy concrete building with the word ‘Lincorp’ in big reinforced glass letters on the side and a roof with a low wall overlooking the city. 

Today’s person of interest was bigwig William Linwood who paused on his way from the front door to his tinted window stretch limo in order to talk to a woman in a skirt suit. Linwood was flanked by security guards with earpieces who walked in a three man wedge formation, signifying involvement with the secret service.

Over a radio signal she had hacked into, a quiet, gravelly voice asked, “Finch, this our guy?”

“He is indeed, Mr Reese. I have recently been made aware of a threat on Mr Linwood’s life; apparently a business deal went wrong a month ago and left Gareth Munroe with a significant dent in his savings account. Mr Linwood was barely affected, so I can only assume this is Mr Munroe’s somewhat violent attempt at revenge. The woman he is talking to is his wife, Henriette Linwood, but I cannot see Mr Munroe anywhere.” This man’s voice was very distinctive. Slightly nasal and very polished, with the classic received pronunciation of learned people.

“Enough about briefcase bigwigs arguing over daddy’s money. Why are we tailing this guy?” A woman’s voice, low and fast with a hint of annoyance.

“ _Must_ you be so crude, Miss Shaw?” asked Harold Finch tiredly.

“That’s just how I roll. You got a problem with it, I’m sure Reese will be happy to do this by himself.”

“That won't be necessary,” Finch hastily intervened. “The attempt will almost surely be on Mr Linwood’s life. Can you see a sniper or anybody looking suspicious nearby?”

On the roof of the building, a dark-haired woman became visible as she stood and lifted a sniper rifle onto the wall, surveying the area through the lens.

So this is Sameen Shaw, thought Root. That’s where I knew the name from, right. But she couldn't tell much about Shaw from the grainy picture or tinny phone line.

“Hang on, Finch. I think I see someone. Reese, tell me who you think that is.” Shaw handed the rifle over to John Reese, who looked at something across the street.

“That looks like Gareth Munroe to me. And he has a gun.”

“I suggest you prepare some sort of diversion,” said Finch.

“You sure I can't just shoot him?” asked Shaw.

“Certain. Now move quickly, before he attempts anything.”

Shaw snatched the rifle back and got it into position, aiming not at the building across the street but at Linwood.

“Whenever you're ready, Shaw,” said Reese.

Shaw pulled the trigger and a bullet ricocheted off Linwood’s car and embedded itself harmlessly in a nearby trashcan. But it had the desired effect: widespread screaming and panic. Most people crouched on the floor with hands behind their heads or tried to hide behind one another.

Linwood’s security detail sprang to life and bundled him and his wife into the car, scanning the area and talking menacingly into their earpieces. Then one of them jumped into the driver’s seat and sped off, tires screeching on the ground as they took the corner a little too hard.

“What was that?” asked Reese with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“I missed on purpose, jackass,” said Shaw.

Root smiled at her screen.

Then the two blurry figures on the rooftop moved out of sight of the camera, and Root closed the audio and visual feeds. Greer had what he wanted: the Machine knew nothing about Samaritan and were mostly keeping to themselves.

And Root had what she wanted: more information on these people whose skills were on a par with her own and potentially had some similar beliefs to her. They might even understand her. Every time she thought about joining them her chest ached heavily like there was a lump of coal in it, but at the same time she felt buoyed up by a sense of hope. The same feeling she got whenever she thought about Dr Grey.

Speaking of Dr Grey, Root’s left ear had been ringing for about half an hour and it had been steadily getting worse the whole time. It was a kind of shrieking, back-and-forth tone that made it difficult to focus on outside sounds. Thankfully it hadn't been too bad while she was eavesdropping on the Machine, but now the room was in silence it felt worse.

And that’s when the vertigo kicked in.

The entire room tilted to the side and began to spin. Root leant back in her chair, clutching the bottom of her seat with both hands and taking steadying breaths through her nose. In, out. In, out. She tried to focus on where the edge of the seat was digging into her palms, and looked at the blank screen of her computer in an attempt to find something familiar to ground herself. 

She stayed like that for what she assumed was maybe twenty minutes, until her head stopped spinning enough to allow her to move into a more comfortable position without fear of falling off the chair. She shifted forwards slowly and carefully, then moved her hands onto her desk and paused like that.

That wasn't too bad as far as vertigo attacks went. Her worst had been three hours sat on the floor of her apartment with her back against the wall and her head between her knees. It was like being on a rollercoaster and spinning on the spot at the same time. But this attack was nowhere near as bad and she could just about power through. Once the worst was over she generally felt rough for about an hour, then it gradually faded away for the time being.

Root grabbed her phone off her desk and tried to distract herself by looking through the pictures in her gallery. Mostly downloaded memes and a few screenshots of advertisements for mega expensive laptops she had been drooling over for a couple of months. Of course all of these were hidden behind impenetrable firewalls that prevented anybody else from seeing them.

But before she knew it, she found herself calling Sameen Grey. She was feeling particularly vulnerable after this latest attack of vertigo. She always did, because it really brought home the reality that she couldn't control what happened to her body. 

In all honestly, phoning Sameen might not have been her brightest idea, Root realised as the dial tone hummed. Her left ear was still ringing and everything sounded like it was underwater. So she grabbed the attachment for her implant she normally used when listening to something on the computer and plugged it into her phone just in time to hear Sameen answer.

“Hey Root.”

“Hey Sweetie. You busy?”

Sameen gave a tiny irritated huff, but it seemed mostly good natured. “Not really. Any particular reason for your call?”

Root was already feeling better. She crossed her legs in her chair. “Kinda. I’m sorry our date was cut short and I just had a vertigo attack, so I’m feeling a little shaky.”

“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Root exhaled slowly. “Not really. I just wanted to talk to you. Done anything interesting today?”

Sameen began explaining about this really awful patient she’d just had called Martine Rosseau who was really rude and ungrateful. Every time she said a direct quotation, Sameen imitated a terrible British accent which made Root laugh until her sides hurt.

“My word, she sounds terrible!” exclaimed Root goodnaturedly. “You poor soul.”

“Eh, it wasn't too bad. We get all kinds of punks who think they can treat us like something on the bottom of their shoe. But there are also some very nice people.”

“Like who?”

“Well, there's an 11 year old CODA called Gen who sometimes comes in with her mom when she can't find a babysitter. She’s really sweet and her mom’s hearing alert dog Bear is the best. And there's also Arthur Claypool who we have been seeing for years. He’s incredibly kind and polite.”

Root smiled softly. “That's so cute.” Then Greer entered through the bead curtain and motioned for her to hang up. “Someone just came in, I’m sorry. Thank you for everything and we will talk again soon.”

“OK. I hope you feel better, Root.”

“Thanks. Bye!” Root hung up and unplugged her implant. “What can I do for you?”

“Who was that?”

“Nobody of importance. Oh right, I bet you'll want to hear about what I intercepted from the Machine. They were just protecting Linwhatever from a threat against his life, they didn't mention Samaritan.”

“And did they say anything about the artefact?”

Root blinked. “What arte- Oh! The one you are going to steal. No they don't know about that. Or if they did it wasn't talked about so chances are they won't try anything.”

Greer nodded. “Alright. Good work, Miss Groves.”


	6. Chapter 6

The van was dark and chilly so Root was wrapped up in an oversized black sweater and a grey and black checked scarf, sitting on her hands in an attempt to warm them up before she began typing. There was a TV screen mounted to the wall of the van, and she had a computer keyboard on her lap.

It was finally time to steal the famous painting. Greer had told her to keep track of police radios nearby to give an advanced warning if people were onto them and of course she was watching CCTV footage, because it was always her job to have eyes everywhere at once.

“The artefact is in transit,” announced Root over the phone, clicking through various cameras as she watched the armoured car carrying the painting cruise towards the second museum. “Just passed the intersection at 23rd and 5th. Almost there. And boom! They just pulled up. Can you see it?”

“Yes,” said Lambert under his breath from where he and Greer were stood just perpendicular to the front door. “Three...two...now!”

Root chewed the side of her thumb nervously as she watched the two ubifmorbed men carry the painting out of the car and towards the large oak front doors. There was only about five feet of concrete and a small staircase separating them from the entrance. But unfortunately for them, Greer walk out of the shadows and calmly point his gun at the shorter of the two.

The duo stopped walking and mechanically positioned themselves on either side of the piece of art, holding it in between them with the frame towards Greer, making it virtually impossible for him to damage it.

“Sir, we’re going to have to ask you to put down the weapon before we are forced to resort to violence,” said the taller man.

Greer laughed humorlessly, his English accent taking on a cold and calculating edge. “I don't think so. In fact we have the two of you surrounded. So just give us the painting and we can end this like civilised human beings. Or is that work of art really worth your life?”

The two men looked at each other, then turned their gazes to their surroundings where Root knew for a fact Lambert was the only Samaritan agent lurking with an unclassified weapon.

The shorter man’s upper lip trembled. Clearly he hadn't been expecting this and was trying to work out if they were going to just kill him and take the painting. Root was on the edge of her seat with her heart pounding.

“Come on,” said Greer with a hint of annoyance. “We don't have all day.”

The second man was reaching for the weapon in his jacket when the radio in Root’s van crackled to life and startled her. “All available units to the Classics Museum there is an armed art heist in progress. Repeat, all available units to the Classics Museum.”

Root frantically grabbed her microphone and pulled it towards her mouth. “Mr Greer, the police are on their way. Get out of there now!”

On screen she saw his eyes narrow slightly, the only sign of him having heard her. His hand on the gun was steady. “Don't make me shoot you.”

The man froze, fingertips just brushing the top of his holster. His eyes burned into Greer’s with unconcealed anger and hatred.

Blaring sirens approached in the distance, heralding the danger that was surely on its way. “Greer they’re-” Root trailed off as new people appeared on the footage of one street away. Two figures: one tall and muscular and the other short and holding a big gun. The Machine. They were moving at a jog towards the Classics Museum.

“Time’s up,” said Greer, aiming at the head of one of the men and preparing to pull the trigger. But before he could, a single shot rang out in the air. Crisp and clear.

Shaw cocked the shotgun (which was nearly the same size as her) a second time and pointed it at Greer. “Wanna see who has better aim?” Behind her, Reese took aim at Lambert with his modest handgun.

We need backup, realised Root. She grabbed her gun out of her belt and lept out of the van. Her breath instantly clouded before her and she ran to where the standoff was taking place, but skidded to a stop about ten feet away when she saw what was happening. She clenched her free hand into a fist and bit her bottom lip.

Thee police car had just pulled up onto the curb. A dark-skinned woman in full police dress leapt out of the car and yelled into her megaphone, “Put your weapons down and get on the ground.” She was glaring at Greer, and almost acting as if Reese and Shaw were not there.

Chaos ensued, as Greer fired twice at the police car then melted away into the shadows. Lambert was about to do the same, but then released the cop was looking straight at him. So he let his gun clatter to the ground and sunk to his knees with his hands behind his head.

Root stood immobile in the darkness and watched as he was handcuffed and led away. Sure, she had hated his guts but with him in jail that put all their lives at risk. The police car drove away with Lambert in the back, looking forlornly out of the window. Reese accompanied the transit workers as took the painting into the museum safely.

Shaw walked away from the crime scene by herself, towards where Root was still standing and now illuminated by the retreating police lights. Then she got her first proper look at Sameen Shaw.

“...Root?” It came out as a choked whisper and Shaw’s voice broke halfway through the syllable.

“Sameen, I -”

“You work for Samaritan.” It wasn't a question.

“Yes,” whispered Root. The blood was rushing in her ears and making her feel sick. This couldn't be happening, she refused to believe it. But how had she not figured it out? Sameen Grey and Sameen Shaw were the same person. She must have guessed, and just shoved the idea to the back of her mind where she wouldn't have to think about it.

“For how long?”

Root could barely get the words out. “A year.”

“A year.” Shaw nodded slowly. “I suppose you already know that all this time they have been making people disappear without good reason, taking away people’s livelihoods and for what? To get rich and powerful.” She paused; her voice was raw with emotion and had a sharp, dangerously angry edge to it. “You know, I thought you were different. I thought you were somebody I could really connect with.” 

Root, feeling more and more like a monster, looked steadily at Sameen and waited for the punch.

“But you're a liar and a cheat just like them.” Shaw pointed her gun at Root with fire blazing in her eyes. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you on the spot.”

“Because-” A sob rose out of Root before she could finish her sentence.

“Five,” said Shaw in a warning tone. “Four.”

“Because I didn't really-” she had to pause to catch her breath, almost hyperventilating.

“Three.”

“Because I didn't really follow their ideals. I don't agree with what they are doing. Please Sameen you have to believe me!” Root’s words fell out of her in a jumbled, desperate mess just like the tears she didn't realise she was crying.

“Not good enough. Two.”

Shaw’s mouth was set in a firm line. Would she really do it? Because there was nothing else Root could do or say to redeem herself.

“One.” Shaw fired.

Pain ripped through Root’s left shoulder. She cried out then sank her knees on the cold concrete, clutching her injury and letting herself sob freely. Empty darkness surrounded her, punctuated only by the faint light filtering towards them from the museum.

Shaw walked in a slow circle around Root, keeping her weapon trained on her.

“Sameen,” said Root through pained gasps. “I’m so sorry.” The world began to swim and the ground rose up beneath her.


	7. Chapter 7

Root woke up and groaned without opening her eyes. Her left shoulder was throbbing and there was a dull ache in her temples. She was laid on her back on a hard, padded bench that wasn't quite big enough for her long legs.

She slowly opened her eyes and took stock of her surroundings. A small library with a table in the middle littered with papers and folders. But what really struck her was the door - wires crisscrossing over each other to make a cage.

Her injury had been cleaned, stitched up and covered with clean white dressing. On her top half she was only wearing her black tank top, her sweater and scarf were hung over the back of one of the chairs and had been washed, although there was a hole in the shoulder of her sweater.

Carefully, Root stood and took a tentative step forwards. The pain was bearable, so presumably she had been given medication at some point. At an unexpected weight on her foot, she looked down to see a high tech ankle bracelet like the ones given to prisoners on parole.

Well that answered one question: she was being held captive. But to what end? Samaritan couldn't care less about her so would probably just assume she had been arrested with Lambert. And they wouldn't have any issues recruiting somebody new with her skills. In fact, newly grads would be tripping over themselves trying to get hired.

There was a window in the corner of the room, so she walked over to it and peered in between the shutters. All she could see was some godforsaken backstreet that was probably filled with drug dealers. And she was five storeys up, so no escaping through there.

Root briefly wondered if she could call out and see if there was anybody she could talk to. Maybe...Sameen. But there was no way on earth Sameen would listen to what she had to say because Sameen hates her now. And that thought caused Root pain ten times worse than the bullet hole in her shoulder.

“Miss Groves?” Harold Finch appeared in the doorway and hung back cautiously, like she was a wild animal that might attack at the slightest provocation. In his hands was a wooden tray bearing a glass of juice and a plate of food. “I brought you some refreshments.” He placed the tray on the floor then fumbled with the large padlock until it clicked and the door swung open.

After picking the tray back up he eyed her until she moved away from the space between him and the table. “Why are you keeping me locked up here?” asked Root, leaning against one of the shelves and folding her arms over her chest.

“We felt it best to keep you contained until such time as you are no longer a threat to us.” He deposited the tray hastily, then retreated back to the safety of outside and closed the door. “Will you be needing anything else?”

“No. And I have never been a threat to you, Harold.”

He locked her in again, making a show of pocketing the key. “I hardly believe that.”

Root approached the door and laced her fingers through the wires at shoulder height. “Well you should believe it. Because I have never, ever done anything to hurt you or Sameen.” She glanced back at her prison and pressed her lips together. “You don't need to keep me here, Harold.”

“That's quite enough, Miss Groves.” He turned away. “It's for your own good.” Without looking back, he left.

Deflated, Root sunk down onto the bench and held her head in her hands. Ever since she'd found out what Samaritan was really like, she had hated them and wanted to leave. But that would have made her a target and a life on the run was not one she was prepared for. 

Whereas, it seemed like The Machine might be the pieces of the puzzle she hadn't realised she was missing. And she got her wish. But at what cost? Here she was, alone in the world and locked in a cage while the only person she truly cared for hated her.

But what would you do if you were released? she asked herself harshly. Find Sameen and beg her forgiveness while explaining why I did what I did. Which is no use at all, she would never take me back now. And she would be right not to.

Somewhere outside her cell, there was the sound of dog paws pattering on the ground and voices talking quietly. They got louder as the people approached, then remained at the perfect volume for eavesdropping when they sat down. For a moment Root wondered if it was intentional, then decided it couldn't be.

“They are evil.” Reese’s voice. Root flinched.

“That is certainly one way to put it,” said Harold. “Their methods are...less than commendable at the best of times.”

The dog whined, then panted and thumped its tail on the floor. Sameen said, “Look, even if Samaritan is bad - which we can all agree on - how are we supposed to stop them when they are always one step ahead of us? They have a proper headquarters, tons of really skilled people and contacts all over the globe. We have three people...four if you count the dog. And I always count the dog.”

“As Miss Shaw rather succinctly put it, we are quite considerably outnumbered,” said Harold.

“Hey, I'd have no problem with marching in there guns blazing and killing them all,” said Sameen.

“Except we are outgunned as well and can't actually find their base of operations,” Reese pointed out.

The dog whined again and there was a little scuffle that was presumably Sameen standing up. “So we just gonna continue this game of cat and mouse or do you actually have an idea?”

“I can help you.” Root stood tensely by the door of the library, hands clenched into fists and breathing heavily.

Reese walked into view and looked at her with a hard to read expression. But when he spoke his voice was as cold as ice, “Why should we ever trust you?”

“Because I don't care about Samaritan.”

“You worked for them for a year,” said Harold, appearing behind Reese with Sameen. Root felt a little like she was in a zoo.

“I didn't have any other choice. I’m not like them!”

Sameen said, “So now you are going to completely switch sides and betray them. Somehow I find that a little untrustworthy.” She looked at the boys. “Leave us.”

When they had gone, she walked closer to Root’s cage and looked steadily at her. “Even if we let you out, what's to say you won't just run back to them.”

“You,” whispered Root. “You are the only true thing I have ever known. You helped me stop feeling like I was drifting and made me realise there are things worth working towards, worth fighting for. I have been hiding since I was twelve and this might be the first time I feel like I belong.”

Sameen slammed her hand on the fence. “Don't say that!” She lowered her voice, “You don't get to talk about me like that.”

They were inches away from each other’s faces, the air between them thrumming with electricity. For a second that seemed to stretch out into an eternity, they did not break eye contact. 

“I’m sorry for what I did,” said Root. Plain and simple, throwing her cards down in defeat and baring her soul to Sameen. “I want to help.”

“You have 59 seconds.”

“Just hear me out. Samaritan has not killed anybody. But they will. Every day they are becoming more ruthless and power hungry, and soon nobody will be able to stop them taking over the world. Right now the only way of doing that is for me to team up with you.”

Shaw shook her head and her facial expression was one with anger simmering on the surface. “I’ll pass. Trust issues.”

“You said so yourself, they outnumber you. But I have inside information that will turn things in your favour. And as for trust issues, I'm happy to take the first step.” She took a knife out of her jeans pocket and handed it to Shaw through the wire, hilt first. “Guess you forgot to do a thorough body search.”

Shaw held the knife tightly, not against Root’s throat but close enough to be threatening. “This is the part where you give me one good reason why I should believe anything you say.”

“If you don't accept my help, innocent people will die. Forget how you feel about me. How would you feel about that?”

Shaw waited for a second then retracted the knife and put it in her own pocket. “Fine, I’ll forget how I feel about you. But when this is over, you better hope I don't remember.”

Root nodded slowly and glanced away, then looked back at Shaw. “Samaritan’s base of operations is beneath a restaurant called the Beatrice Lillie. Their power comes from a generator in an anteroom at the back, guarded by two very strong men called Virgil and Grice. Trust me, I’m on your side.”

Shaw stepped away from the door and practically growled, “If that is wrong you will be sorry.”

Root laughed. “Oh Sweetie. I kind of enjoy that sort of thing. We’re going to have so much fun together.”

Shaw shook her head again and left the room.


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning, Reese, Finch and Shaw were hanging out in the work section of the library with nothing to do. Samaritan hadn't tried anything new yet and there was a brief lull in New York City crime. If anything came up, Carter and Fusco promised they would contact them immediately.

Shaw had been banished to the opposite side if the room from the others because Finch was convinced she was incapable of eating her pastrami sandwich without getting food on his computer. Which was absolute nonsense, she was a very clean eater.

Finch briefly glanced up from his computer to give Reese, who was calmly cleaning his gun, a disapproving look. “I wish you wouldn't do that here.”

“If I do it in the park, people look at me funny,” replied Reese in his usual just-above-a-whisper tone, like he has permanent laryngitis or something. But nonetheless, he threw down his dirty cloth and swiftly reassembled his gun before putting it back in the arsenal.

Finch carried on typing for a second then paused with a look of horror on his face. “Oh dear.”

“Whhh?” asked Shaw. When she was met with blank stares, she swallowed her mouthful and tried again. “What?”

“A group of people in ski masks led by an Englishman man have just hijacked a shipment of gasoline. Now who does that remind you of, Mr Reese?” Finch’s eyes were wide and he couldn't tear his gaze away from whatever image was on screen.

“Samaritan,” Reese said emotionlessly.

“And they're planning on making a big bang,” said Shaw, getting up and walking over to him. “Finch, I’m telling you. We can't keep this up forever, we’re running out of options. We need Root.”

“Miss Shaw, you know as well as I do that is not an option.” Finch’s voice didn't raise in volume but conveyed his anger perfectly.

Shaw looked at him. “She knows the inner workings of Samaritan backwards and forwards, she is putting her life on the line to help us and save their next victims. You have seen what Samaritan are planning to do - they won't think twice about killing her if they find out what she is doing. And yet she is still willing to do it.” Shaw gestured to the police report on screen. “Time’s up, Harold.”

“This is not something we should go about lightly.”

“It's the only way.” To punctuate her point, Shaw put her hands on the desk in front of Harold, making him flinch. 

“There will be larger consequences if we make this decision and we need to be ready for that.”

“We aren't going to get another opportunity like this.”

“You seem awfully keen to let Root help,” Reese commented. “I’m not sure I think you should be so willing to put our lives in her hands.”

Shaw scoffed, “This isn't about her, it's about the mission. We can save countless lives.”

Finch said, “I just want to make sure we're prepared for what may happen.”

“I'm in. Are you?”

*

Harold approached the door of Root’s cell and unlocked it, then stepped back and motioned for her to exit. Reese and Shaw were waiting for her in the main room, and Root noticed a meaningful glance between them. On the table was a laptop and Harold gestured for her to sit in the chair front of it.

“I was wondering if you were going to let me out,” Root said. “You must know there is only so much I can tell you about Samaritan’s plans without an internet connection, and even if I did get access to a wireless device the Faraday cage you constructed would prevent me from communicating with the outside world.” She sat down and trailed her fingertips across the keyboard of the laptop. Then she scanned the police report of the shipment hijack. “You haven't taken down their power yet otherwise they wouldn't dare make such a bold move. Here I am, and you two boys seem wary of me so I’m going to guess...Sameen persuaded you to let me out so I can help you put an end to Samaritan once and for all. How close was I?”

“Your powers of deduction are, as ever, impeccable,” said Harold.

Root inclined her head towards him slightly, then looked back at the report. “If you are anything like me - and we both know you are - then you will want this done quickly and quietly. I have a plan.”

“Then let's hear it,” said Shaw. “We're all ears.”

“The key part of running any underground operation is consistency. Without me to handle the power, the easiest way to avoid detection would be to buy a new generator from a trusted contact. They will have to install it, but it would be easy for skilled people such as ourselves to intercept the delivery and leave them without power or internet. Making it very hard for them to continue to run high tech illegal operations.”

“And you have a way of doing all of this?” asked Shaw expectantly.

“Absolutely. But we need to go to the local library.” Root pushed her chair back and stood.

“Why?”

Root smiled at her. “Trust me.”

Then she waited for Shaw to lead the way and followed her to the nearest library, only a few blocks away.

“You gonna tell me what all this cloak and dagger is about?” Shaw asked as they walked.

Root hummed. “We need to hack into Samaritan’s system to find out when the delivery is, and by doing it in a public place we significantly lower our chances of anyone finding out who did the hacking. And nobody will know where The Machine’s hideout is. There are faster ways of doing this but I wanted to go with the the old fashioned method for extra insurance.” She stopped walking abruptly then entered a small convenience store and used cash to buy a baseball cap, a pair of gloves and a beanie.

When they were out on the street again, she handed the beanie to Shaw and told her to put it on while tying up her own hair and putting on the baseball cap. “In case they have cameras in there.”

Then they reached the library and Root made a beeline for the computers. She sat down and put on the gloves before starting to type and easily finding Samaritan’s data and confirming the time of the delivery. Her prediction was correct, and it felt good to be getting back into the groove with some good old fashioned recon. Then she got up and motioned for Shaw to follow her into the history section.

Shaw looked at her in confusion. “What are we doing now?”

Root held a finger to her lips. “ _There are no cameras here but I can't promise there are no microphones. The delivery is at ten pm tonight,_ ” she signed.

“ _And what if things go sideways_?” Shaw didn't miss a beat with the language switch.

Root’s eyebrows drew together. “ _I really hope that doesn't happen. But if it does then...I guess I’ll take one for the team. Give myself up and say you had nothing to do with it_.” As she signed, she looked off into the distance and refused to make eye contact with Shaw.

Until the shorter woman took her by the shoulders and forced her to pay attention. Shaw retracted her hands in order to sign. “ _Don't try to get yourself killed in some ridiculous attempt at redemption. By agreeing to do this you are already making the conscious decision to take steps towards becoming a better person. If you die then we will be right back where we started. How you do matters as much as what you do and right now, everything you are doing is right. Don't let anybody tell you differently._ ”

Tears glistened in Root’s eyes and she stepped backwards. “ _It’s OK that our relationship crashed and burned. The fact that you're alive is enough._ ”. Yet she couldn't destroy the last glimmer of hope that the relationship between Dr Grey and the Root she presented to the outside world was over, but maybe there could still be something between Shaw and the real Root. Otherwise Sameen wouldn't be saying all this.

Shaw didn't say anything else and began browsing the shelves nearby.

Root used this opportunity to begin planning how best to destroy the generator. Fire is always good, as is throwing it into the nearest large body of water. But by far the most fun way… “ _How do you feel about driving large trucks?_ ”

Shaw’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “ _Root what the actual heck?!_ ” She signed so vigorously that her arm moved further than expected and slammed into the bookshelf, making a resounding bang. The shelf wobbled for a second and threatened to fall before regaining its posture and staying upright.

And that was when the librarian approached them shyly and with a hint of amusement, “I’m can't believe I’m about to say this, ladies, but there's a first time for everything. I’m going to have to ask you to leave for -” she choked back a laugh - “signing too loudly. Have a nice day now.”

Root pressed her fist to her mouth to stifle her giggle and Shaw just gave the woman a vaguely annoyed and slightly bored look then dragged Root out of the library by her wrist.

When they got out of the door, Shaw carried on walking for a few steps until she realised Root was no longer beside her and turned around in confusion.

Root was doubled over against the wall and laughing so hard she started crying. “We got thrown out,” she said breathlessly between peals of laughter, “For signing too loudly!” Then she was off again, clutching her stomach and bright red in the face.

“Well yeah,” Shaw said, leaving the ‘duh’ very much implied. She looked like an adorably confused puppy.

It was the first time Root had laughed properly in days, maybe even weeks or months. She supposed that was why she was approaching hysteria, her body needed a cathartic way to let everything out. Sadly a horrendous stitch in her left side seemed to be part of the bargain but she could deal with it.

“Root,” said Shaw while gesturing towards the outside. “We need to go and...do...important stuff.”

Taking deep breaths to calm herself, Root stood. “Sorry, Sam. I’m good now. We can go.”

“Yeah, well, don't do it again.” Shaw led the way back to their headquarters and took off her beanie, stuffing it into her coat pocket.


	9. Chapter 9

“So the next part of our master plan,” Root said to Reese and Shaw back at the HQ, “is to intercept the generator.”

“Why do they even need a generator anyway, why can't they just connect to the grid?” asked Reese.

“Because then people can access their data and they might get caught,” said Root.

Harold limped into the room with his phone in one hand. “I just spoke to one of my contacts at Iron Heights - Mr Carl Elias - and he promised to watch over Samaritan’s agents to make sure they don't escape or start running their operation remotely.”

“Is he a guard there?” Shaw asked.

“No, he is a prisoner. But his position grants him a certain amount of power and influence, so I called in an old favour.” Harold turned to Reese. “Mr Reese, would you mind accompanying me to the precinct? I have a feeling Detectives Carter and Fusco would appreciate us explaining our plan in person.”

“Of course.” Reese followed him out, and Root pretended not to notice their distrustful glances in her direction. 

Shaw gently pulled Root's leather jacket out of the way of the still-healing bullet wound on her shoulder and examined it. “Keep it dry, change the dressings every 72 hours.”

“I love it when you play doctor,” Root said quietly, looking down at Shaw fondly. 

In response, Shaw glared at her and retracted her hand. Then she went and grabbed a large bone off one of the shelves and sat on the floor with Bear, giving him the bone to chew on while she petted him.

Root ignored her and sat in front of Harold’s computer, resting her feet on the desk. Within seconds she had access to the bank accounts Samaritan had under various fake names and took all their money. Some went into her own account (Caroline Turing was the one she had used most recently. It also made sense, since that identity was a psychiatrist who did often get paid a lot by famous clients who wanted discretion), the rest went to charity.

“Bingo,” muttered Root under her breath as she hit the final enter key. “That should buy us a little more time.”

Shaw looked over at her. “What should?”

“I emptied Samaritan’s bank accounts. Even if they somehow get secure internet access between now and ten pm, it’s going to be hard to hire hitmen when you don't have a penny to your name.”

“OK that is kinda hot,” admitted Shaw. “How long do we have?”

Root glanced at the time in the corner of the computer screen. “It’s six now, so we have four hours.”

“Alright. Hey, when did you last eat?”

“Ummm.” Root racked her brains but couldn't come up with anything more recent than the cereal Harold gave her while she was in the cage. “Breakfast?"

Shaw’s eyes widened slightly and her jaw tightened. “How have you not passed the hell out yet?”

“I don't know.” Root looked down at her body like it was going to have the answer written on it somewhere.

Shaw rolled her eyes then tapped her earpiece. “Finch? Can you and Reese bring some food when you come back? Thanks.” She hung up and looked at Root pensively.

It made Root feel slightly queasy, as if she had done something wrong. She put up with bit for a whole minute before snapping, “Can I help you, Sameen?”

Shaw started slightly then looked away quickly, “No. Sorry.”

Root smiled and leant back in her chair, clasping her hands in front of her conspitationally. “So, let me explain how we are going to destroy this generator.”

*

“I didn't even know this part of New York existed,” said Shaw as Root led her down a string of alleyways to a little square behind the Beatrice Lillie. There was a large red brick building with no windows that could easily be mistaken for an ancient boarding school, and a garage that Root knew contained the operating room of Samaritan.

“That’s the idea.” Root hung back against the wall out of sight and gestured to a plain white van that was just visible two streets away. “That is the delivery we want.”

The garage door opened and Virgil and Grice came out to wait for the van, but Root shot them both in the neck with tranquilizer darts then grabbed their arms and dragged them back into the garage. Once that was done, she gave Shaw the nod before hiding down the side of the building.

The van pulled up and Shaw winked at Root. As soon as the the driver disembarked, Shaw snuck up behind him then jumped on him, the unexpected weight bringing him to the ground. She wrapped her thighs around his neck and squeezed until he passed out. Then looked around to make sure it was safe and gestured for Root to come over.

Root hurried to the back of the van, pulled open the doors and climbed up inside it. The generator took up about a third of the available space, leaving just enough room for Root to fold down the delivery ramp. Then Shaw located a wheeled trolley and used it to transport the generator, a large grey box, down the ramp and set it in front of the van. “Couldn't we have waited until the guy had moved this before knocking him out?” she complained between grunts of exertion. 

“Sorry, Sweetie. But then he might have noticed us.” Just like I am noticing your muscles, thought Root. But they didn't distract her, of course, because she was a professional.

“Whatever.” Shaw let the generator drop to the ground with the rattling thunk of several electrical components smashing. She pushed a few stray strands of hair out of her face then climbed into the driver's seat of the truck and ran it over, the van rode up onto the generator at first but then the weight crushed it.

From a safe distance away, Root watched and couldn't suppress a wince as the generator was dashed to pieces. Shaw even went back over it twice to make sure nothing was salvageable.

“Good work!” Root said when Shaw exited the vehicle and looked down at her handiwork. “We’re so good at this together. But now we need to get out of here, fast.”

At that exact moment, Jeremy Lambert appeared behind them and pointed his gun at Root while yelling, “Don't move!” He must have heard the commotion and realised there was something going on. They should have been more careful. They should have-

Without even pausing to think, Shaw pulled out her own weapon and put two bullets in Lambert while Root stood motionless with a stricken face.

“Root, we need to go.” Shaw tugged lightly on Root’s arm to try and get her to move. “Root, come on. More people will have heard that and the police will be here soon. Move your ass!”

Shaw’s sharp words broke Root out of her reverie and they broke into sprints. On their way out, they could see at least five police vehicles pulling up in front of the building.

“It’s finally over,” whispered Root. “I can't believe it.” Her hands were shaking and she leant against Shaw for support. Greer was being marched out of the building in handcuffs and shoved none-too-gently into the police car by Detective Carter. Followed by all the other members of Samaritan and various illegal weapons and technology. The entire operation was gone.

“I used to hate those colours,” said Shaw, watching the blue and red flashes light up the courtyard. “Usually meant I had to run. But now…”

“Yeah,” hummed Root as she entwined her fingers with Shaw’s. “But now we're both on the right side of the law.”

*

Root sat in her cage, drumming her fingers on the desk and staring out of the window. Bear nosed her knee and she reached down to pet him.

Harold approached the open door and looked at her with a mixture of confusion and lingering fear that Root was beginning to suspect was never going to go away. Bear ran over to his side.

“I think he’s finally warming up to me,” Root said, nodding at the dog.

“You were free,” said Harold. “Why did you come back?”

Root looked at him steadily. “Samaritan may be gone but the fight isn't over yet. And I think we should be together for it. Don't you?”

Harold didn't say anything at first, just looked at her searchingly. Like he was trying to fathom out if she was being sincere. Or maybe he was making up his mind about trusting her. Then he said something she really wasn't expecting, “Thank you.”

As he stepped away and locked the door Root nodded and folded her arms, watching his retreating back.


	10. Chapter 10

Sat at the desk in her cage, Root tried for the umpteenth time to read the book in front of her.

She had been a little surprised to discover Sense and Sensibility on Harold’s shelf, but there was actually a lot of classic literature present. Nothing in his fiction section had been published after 1950, which made her smile a little: classic Harold. Ooh, unintended pun!

But for some reason her gaze kept wandering with her attention and she hadn't turned a page in the past half hour. Instead she found herself absentmindedly looking towards the door, not really thinking about anything in particular and barely paying attention.

So she nearly jumped out of her skin when Sameen appeared on the other side of the fence. And she was even more surprised when Sameen produced a key from her jeans pocket and unlocked the door. 

“Where did you get that?” Root asked. “And why are you still awake?”

“Stole it.” Shaw entered the Faraday cage and sat on the chair next to Root. “And why are _you_ awake at four in the morning?”

“You stole the key from Harold?” Root raised her eyebrows.

Shaw shrugged and started peeling the untouched orange on Root’s dinner tray. “Military training, remember? And don't think I haven't noticed you still haven't answered my question.”

Root folded her arms and pouted. “Nor have you.”

Cracking a little grin Shaw said, “I wanted to talk to you.”

“You could have done that from outside.”

“Look, I don't approve of Finch keeping you in a cage. I know I’m not exactly a shining example of humanity but even I have to admit that’s messed up.”

Root smiled slowly as a warm, fuzzy feeling spread through her chest. It was like something out of a fairytale. Sameen was her knight in shining armour, saving Root from both herself and the bad guys. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Shaw tossed the last segment of orange into her mouth and moved on to Root’s full mug of coffee. “So why are you awake?” she asked between mouthfulls.

“I couldn’t sleep. I just kept thinking about Samaritan and Harold and if he will ever trust me. Like, properly.”

“Finch doesn't trust anyone,” Shaw said into her mug.

“He trusts John.”

“He _tolerates_ John. None of us even know his real name.” She sighed and put down her mug. “So you messed up once. We’ve all done it. You changed, it’s just taking Finch a while to see it.”

“What can I tell him? ‘Sorry I secretly worked for the baddies, I won't do it again’?”

“Maybe not phrase it like that but yeah, basically.”

Shaw’s phone chimed with a text and she held it between her and Root so they could both read it. The message was from Carter and said ‘robbery at convenience store on 23rd. Go!’

Shaw put her phone back in her pocket, stood, looked at Root who still hadn't moved and nodded at the door. “Come on, we haven't got all day.”

In her haste to stand up, Root nearly knocked the table over. But Shaw slammed her hand onto it so it landed back on all four legs with a startling bang that made Root flinch.

Then they quickly left the library and climbed into their black car outside, with Shaw behind the wheel.

“Let me guess,” Root said as she buckled her seatbelt. “You stole John’s car keys as well.”

“Now you're getting the idea.” Shaw drove like a maniac to the convenience store and Root hoped she didn't do that when there wasn't a time-sensitive matter to attend to. It was fine at an ungodly hour when the streets were dead but it was also really unsafe, and Root was willing to bet they would be pulled over within five minutes if it was the middle of the day.

The pair leapt out of the car and raced into the store. Five teenage boys in hoodys and ski masks were there, one holding the cashier at gunpoint and the others shovelling produce into drawstring backpacks.

“Hello boys,” Shaw said in a low, threatening tone as she stood in the doorway, silhouetted by a streetlamp.

They all jumped and simultaneously turned towards Shaw while Root scanned the area. “They haven't shot the camera,” she whispered. “I’ll bet the gun isn't loaded.”

“Ametuer-hour,” Shaw hissed back. “No problem.”

“Who the hell are you?” demanded one of the thieves.

“Concerned citizens,” Root replied smoothly. He hadn't even moved his gun away from the shopkeeper even though he wasn't looking in that direction any more. This kid really didn't know what he was doing.

“Leave us alone or I’ll shoot!”

“No you won't,” Root said. “Your gun isn't even loaded. And if it was, your hand is shaking it too much to guarantee a clear shot.”

“Plus you're holding it sideways,” John added as he entered the store, soaking wet from head to toe and wearing a raincoat. He held up his NYPD badge and Root remembered his cover identity was Detective Riley. That explained the flashing lights outside.

“And what sort of time do you call this?” asked Shaw.

“I would have come sooner but some jackass stole my car keys.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. “We got this, Reese. You can wait outside.”

John looked pointedly from Shaw to Root in a way that made Root feel uncomfortable, then eventually said, “It’s raining.”

“A little rain’s not gonna kill you. But I might if you don't get out right now. This wannabe thug and I were just beginning to understand each other, weren't we?”

The thief nodded, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. 

“Plus you're already drenched!” Root added enthusiastically.

“Fine. I’ll tell Carter you two are handling it.” He left.

“Now where were we?” Root mused. “Ah yes. I believe we were about to negotiate an-”

Shaw grabbed the thief’s arm, pulled the gun out of his grasp it then threw it to Root who caught it clumsily. Then she slammed his head onto the counter and pressed her elbow on his back. His associates stared at her in terror, frozen midmovement.

“Of course that works too,” Root said as she admired Shaw’s muscles.

“My friend outside is going to arrest you,” said Shaw as she tightened her grip on the thief. “You will all end up with records and if you try anything like this again you will be sorry. Understand?”

The thief nodded best he could from his current position. “Yes Ma’am.”

But while Shaw had been speaking, Root noticed the thief behind her slowly reach into his bag for something. She had barely noticed him earlier since he was on her right (her deaf side) but the movement caused her to tune in to what he was doing.

She watched him stealthily produce a gun and he aim it at Shaw. The second his finger went for the trigger Root was moving, one hand pushing the gun away from Shaw and her other hand, still holding the gun from earlier, hit him upside the head so he dropped unconscious.

He fell like a sack of potatoes and Root stepped backwards so he wouldn't touch her. The shot rang out as the bullet hit a wall, causing everybody to look at Root. She tilted her head to one side and frowled slightly, “Sorry about the damage.”

 

Shaw looked at Root strangely and said in a strained voice, “Can you get the detectives?”

“Sure.” Root poked her head out of the door and informed John and Carter in a sing-song voice that they could arrest the hoodlums.

The two detectives entered, accompanied by some backup in bulletproof vests and wearing earpieces, and cuffed the would-be robbers. When all of them except Carter had left, she went to speak to Root and Shaw.

Shaw was in the midst of apologising to the shopkeeper for slightly wrecking his building while he insisted it was not a problem and they had saved his life.

“Can I borrow you two for a minute?” Carter asked.

Root and Shaw followed her outside into the rain then paused beside her police car. “I’m not really sure what to make of you people,” said Carter. “You aren't any organisation, at least not one I’ve heard of, but you seem highly capable. And I know a good few situations that could have gotten ugly without your quick intervention. And you led us to Samaritan which I still can't believe. So I guess what I’m trying to say is: thank you and keep up the good work.”

“Just doing what we can,” Shaw said.

“New York is a dangerous city after all,” Root added earnestly.

Carter laughed. “See you around.” Then she got into her car and waved as she drove away.

The last of the police lights faded away into the distance, leaving Root and Shaw alone on the sidewalk. They stood there for a few seconds in comfortable silence while the rain soaked through their clothes. Root’s hair was sodden and sticking to her cheeks. Shaw wasn't faring much better but at least her hair was tied up.

“So Carter appreciates our efforts,” Root said to break the silence. “Which is good because we save people now.”

“Yeah,” replied Shaw. She gave Root that strange look - again - then grabbed her upper arms and pulled her in for a kiss. Their mouths slammed together and Root gasped in surprise, then closed her eyes and enjoyed the moment.

Rain continued to fall and patter the sidewalk and drench the two women, but they were too wrapped up in each other to notice.

Until they both pulled away after some instinctively agreed period of time and stood looking tenderly at each other for a moment. 

Root was panting slightly and fairly sure she was shaking, but it was the good kind of nervous. Apprehensive and uncertain. “That didn't suck,” she said.

“Shut up,” Shaw said playfully while elbowing Root in the abdomen.

Root laughed and took her hand. “Come on, the other’s will be wondering what is keeping us.”

“Let them wonder.” Shaw kissed her again, more gently this time, and the only thought in Root’s mind was ‘I can't believe it. My life doesn't get to be this good. And yet…’

So there she was, kissing a beautiful woman in the rain after helping stop a robbery. Free from Samaritan and working with a group of people who share her beliefs and were learning to trust her.

Maybe dreams do come true.

And maybe this isn't the end at all.


End file.
